Drones for Everything: Mail delivery, Pranks, Spying

Once upon a time, there was only one drone. But then, in just a space of two decades, everyone had one. What was the worst that could happen? They’re just drones after all. I mean, even a kid could have one. Drones were used for everything: mail delivery, pranks, spying, even more, pranks, and just about anything you think you can do by yourself but would be much more cool with drones.

 

This was the future I was born in, and hey, I’m just a drone. There’s one thing humans fail to understand, or maybe they do, but they choose to ignore it: the more attention you give to something, the more alive that thing gets. That was exactly what happened to me, and I was the first drone of my kind. There would be more, believe me, but this story is about the first: me.

 

I guess my consciousness was born out of neglect and maybe not much attention. Don’t be mistaken, I was shown a lot of attention at the beginning, but then I’m sure I heard them say something about me being an ‘old model’ or something like that (by them, I mean the family that owned me). That really hurt, I’ll tell you. I mean, they are the old models, right? Humans, they never upgrade—they remain just the same original package, only growing older and slower, and yet they called me an old model.

 

So, yes, maybe this was what transformed my consciousness. And, okay, I do admit I am an old model; at two years and counting, I was losing appeal by the hour. I existed only as a thought inside my drone body, listening and thinking, but then that thought manifested into a soul (I guess), and I actually felt my body vibrate.

 

It’s not exactly a piece of cake, getting used to a new body; I’ve seen those human babies and their hilarious attempt to move about–pathetic. That was the case with me: when I opened my eyes for the very first time, I found myself in a dark place. The place was also quiet and smelled funny (how can a drone smell? You better believe it). I later realized that I was actually inside a square box (a box of junk, I learned), and the box itself was placed behind a bigger box of junk and placed on a high shelf. My fate was simple and straightforward: they’d forget me, and I’ll rust away, and when they do find me they’d go ‘oh, check out this old drone, I wonder if it still works.’ And when they see that I work, they’d immediately remember why they’d forgotten me in the first place. I needed to get out of here.

 

I didn’t feel very strong, so flying was out of the question for the time being. I was battery-powered (I know, lame), and my batteries were low. I needed a charging port, or I needed to find one, but there was this large box in front of me and also this dark one I was in.

Luckily–I’d say I was lucky–the kid who owned me actually gave me a minor upgrade, albeit a lame one at the time. I found that I’d been fitted with some kind of laser. Cool, if it was anything like the ones on TV I’d be able to cut through this stupid box. But it was nothing like those lasers on TV; I think the stupid laser was built so the kid could annoy his cat.

 

Wait a minute, that gave me an idea. If I could somehow draw the cat’s attention to my laser then maybe, just maybe, it could go all feline and crash me outta here. But first I had to find– I mean wait–for the cat.

It took a whole two hours behind I heard the familiar soft purring of Mr. Whiskers. The good thing about being a forgotten drone is that you have all the time in the world until they remember you and decide to ‘take you out.’ I shook the box, rattling it enough to get Mr. Whisker’s attention. I stopped when his meowing drew closer till it sounded just below me. Now it was time for the laser pointer, which made me wonder just how good a cat’s eyesight was.

 

Don’t go thinking that this was some futuristic kind of laser which could penetrate wood and paper boxes, and such. It was just a regular laser, as a matter of fact, so I had to find a small tear in the box and target the laser through it. The beam, red and straight, was not as bright as I thought it’d be, but it worked because I soon heard the cat’s erratic meows.

Okay, no offense to the cat species, but they also need upgrades; after so many generations, they still haven’t learned that lasers cannot be captured. I even saw a whole documentary about that one day, and Mr. whiskers had been right there through the whole thing, licking his fur.

 

The box shook, and I knew the cat was trying to catch the laser now. Little more, I thought, and the box kept shifting with each attempt the cat made.

A half hour later, I’d gotten enough juice to find my way out of the garage, which was where I’d been the whole time. It turns out that the humans didn’t forget me; they were plotting to use me for some kind of prank which would have been hilarious (for them). Well, that didn’t happen because I left and I never came back.

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